


Blind Passion

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Gen, Language, Light Dom/sub, Mild Language, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Female Character, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: To repay you for helping him at the grocer, Chris invites you over for dinner.





	Blind Passion

_Based mostly on the tags from **[this post](http://femmedplume.tumblr.com/post/170825795509).**_

* * *

 

You had seen Chris at the grocer, pushing a cart, dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, slender fingers picking out enough food for the next handful of days. He’s always polite to the cashier, asking how her daughter is doing on the soccer team, flashing her his megawatt smile, his eyes sparkling in the terrible fluorescent lights. Normally, he’s in and out in a matter of minutes.

Today, he was holding a cantaloupe in each hand, eyebrows knitted in confusion, muttering to himself, and he had been standing there for almost six and a half minutes. Not that you’d been counting. Nope. Absolutely not.

“You gotta smell ‘em,” you pointed out, interrupting his monologue.

He whirled around, almost dropping one of the cantaloupes. “What?”

You grabbed a melon from his hand, turning it over, and pointing at the button. “You have to smell it. If it smells sweet, it’s ripe.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled. “I’m more of a meat and potatoes guy.”

“I noticed.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew what was happening. “I mean, I’ve seen you shopping here before. No, wait, I didn’t mean… I’m not stalking you,” you laughed nervously.

Chris was smirking playfully. “It’s a small town, even smaller store. I’ve seen you, too.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the admission. “Small town.”

“That it is,” he murmured before lifting the melon to his nose and pulling in its aroma. “Perfect.”

After doing the same, you hummed your agreement and held out the melon for him. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

You were turning back to your own cart when Chris said, “Let me cook you dinner.”

Turning back, you smiled warmly. “I prefer fish, not steak.” God, you hoped you didn’t sound presumptuous.

“I fish all the time,” Chris said with one of his megawatt smiles. “In fact, I just caught some lovely yellowtail this morning.”

“We could make salsa,” you added happily. “The melon would pair wonderfully with it.”

“I was just thinking that,” Chris chuckled, setting both melons into his cart. “How does six o’clock sound?”

Who were you to turn him down? “It sounds wonderful.”

You couldn’t show up empty-handed, so after Chris entered his phone number and address into your phone, you bought the ingredients to make a simple, yet decadent, chocolate mousse. On your way to the register, a sign for white wine grabbed your attention. Without a second thought, you purchased one bottle, the expensive kind.

* * *

With your hands full, you used your elbow to ring the bell, chuckling when the attentive barks of a dog sounded off. The door opened a few moments later, revealing Chris and a chocolate lab waiting behind him, tail wagging, tongue hanging out of his mouth, smiling big.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open further.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking in everything about the cabin and the man in front of you.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.” Chris held his hands out to take the mousse and wine so you could remove your jacket.

You hung it on the rack and shrugged. “It was the least I could do since you so kindly offered to cook. Which, by the way, smells  _amazing_.”

Chris blushed at your praise and jerked his head to the side, silently telling you which direction he would be walking. “Thank you. My mother taught me how to cook.”

_Ten points to mama Argent._

“And who is this lovely boy?” you asked happily, dropping down to the dog’s level, earning yourself a welcoming lick on the back of your hand and neck.

Chris was on his way to the stove after putting the mousse in the fridge. “That is Wolf. He goes hunting with me.”

“That explains the decor,” you said after scraping your nails through Wolf’s thick fur.

“The decor? What’s wrong with it?” he asked, eyebrow raised, spatula poised over the pan.

“Nothing,” you chuckled, hands held up in defense. “I love it. It’s woodsy and rustic. A bit rough around the edges, but it’s your home.”

“I bought it after uh, after my wife died,” he admitted, head down, focused on the task of plating up dinner.

You remembered reading the obituary a handful of years ago; an animal bite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

Chris set the plates on the table and was pouring the wine into glasses. “Dinner is served,” he smiled, and made a grand gesture of pulling out the chair for you. His fingers lingered against your shoulders as you sat, as he pushed the chair in, as you pulled the napkin onto your lap.

Dinner tasted even better than it smelled, and you had to work to at suppressing the moans every time your taste buds rejoiced. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself. That didn’t last very long, because when Chris took a drink of the wine, he licked his bottom lip, catching a drop before it could be considered wasted, and the look of pure bliss he wore was downright sinful.

Over the next hour, the two of you shared personal stories, laughed at each other’s quirks, and, once the bottle was empty, Chris disappeared into the cellar, emerging a minute later with a nicely aged Sauvignon Blanc.

“Unless you have other plans?” Chris asked before popping the cork.

You held out your glass. “Not unless you’re kicking me out.”

“That is never going to happen.” His cool eyes drilled into yours as he poured the wine. There was a rush of need that flooded through you at, not only his eyes but, the tone with which he spoke. It was low and full of want, and damn, did it make you squeeze your thighs together.

With Wolf trailing you, Chris led you to the back patio where he started a small fire. The two of you sat down, your arms brushing together with every movement, When the small talk ended, the silence that stretched was anything but awkward. You sat there, drinking incredible wine, watching Wolf as he strolled aimlessly through the grass, his tail wagging, nose working.

Chris didn’t say anything as he disappeared into the house, returning after a handful of minutes with one large serving of mousse, a cloth napkin, and two spoons.

“Figured we could share,” he announced as he took a seat.

“Why dirty more dishes?” you agreed.

Wolf jogged over and tried begging handsomely for some. “You know better than that,” Chris chastised the animal.

You laughed at the way they were staring at each other and the whine that was bubbling in Wolf’s throat. “Awww, Chris,” you pouted. “Look at him. He’s so adorable!”

“And he knows it,” he gruffed, not taking his eyes off the dog as he shoved a bite into his mouth.

Wolf hung his head and ambled away, his tail low. Until a squirrel dared dart across the yard. He tore off with a bark and chased it up into a tree. When you were done laughing at the display, you turned and found Chris staring at you.

“What?” you asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

One corner of his lips pulled up. “You just have something on your face.”

Chris waited until you shifted closer before he reached out and swiped his thumb under the swell of your bottom lip. He pulled it back to show you the smear of light brown mousse your tongue had previously missed. You thought he would just wipe his finger on the napkin and be done with it, but there was no way your hormones were prepared for what happened next.

You watched with your lips parted as he brought his finger to his mouth, as his tongue darted out, wrapped around the digit, and sucked it into his mouth. But that wasn’t what made your body clench in anticipation. It was the way he moaned. It washed over you, echoed in your ears, and sent bursts of static dancing along your skin. You wanted him, and you wanted him bad enough that you grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him.

His fingers had just found their way into your hair when the sound of ceramic shattering on concrete brought you to your senses.

“Oh no,” you gasped, pulling back with your heart hammering in your chest. “I’m so sorry.” You didn’t know exactly what you were apologizing for, the kiss or the broken dish. Either way, you felt bad.

You dropped to your knees and started cleaning up the spilled mousse with the spoon, shoveling it onto the napkin. You were angry at yourself and embarrassed. Never had you been so brazen with a man, but there was something about Chris that made you forget all of your insecurities.

Chris’ hand was on yours, effectively stopping you. “Be careful,” he warned, his voice rough. “Don’t want to cut yourself.” There was a large shard of ceramic he grabbed carefully, one that your palm would have grazed had he not stopped you.

Being careful, the two of you cleaned up the broken dish, which you apologized for again. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“The dish, or the kiss?” he inquired, the napkin full of broken ceramic in his hands. “Because I could care less about the dish.”

You placed the empty wine glasses and spoons in the sink, cheeks flushed, and not only from the wine. “I just… that,” you pointed outside. “I’m not normally like that.”

There was a splash of water as he rinsed off his hands, drying them off quickly. “Like what?”

“Forward,” you chuckled nervously, scratching the back of your neck.

Chris came to a stop in front of you, just inside your air space, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like it,” he murmured.

You could smell the wine and mousse on his breath. “Y- you do?” you asked, unconsciously shifting closer to him..

“Yeah,” he confirmed, voice low and thick. “I like it a lot.”

Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and that was when you realized his hand hadn’t dropped from your face. Whether it was the wine that emboldened you, his admission of liking your previous act of forwardness, the way his pupils were swallowing the icy blue irises, none of the above, or all of the above, you closed the minimal distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

It was sweet and slow, the pair of you getting familiar with each other’s mouths and the way your bodies fit together as you held onto one another. Chris’ tongue prodded your bottom lip as he slanted his mouth over yours. He tasted like lime and chocolate, and the tangy mixture left you wanting more.

You swallowed Chris’ moan as you pushed up to your toes, therefore deepening the kiss, and buried a hand in his hair, tugging on the short strands. From sweet and slow to passionate and lascivious, the air was charged, sparking like a live wire, looking for someone to shock. With his hand on the back of your head, he backed you into the wall, pinning you to it with his lean frame, kissing you until the pair of you were blind with heat.

Chris’ hands roamed over your curves, tugging at the clothing that covered you, that hid your body from him. His thick beard was burning your skin as he kissed you deeply. He was fueled by the noises you made, the mewls of arousal at the scrape of calluses on your sensitive skin, the moans he swallowed when you raked your nails through his silvering chest hair, the way your body arched, seeking him out.

The clothes separating you disappeared quickly, falling to the wayside, forgotten, leaving you gloriously naked. The breeze through the screen door cooled your overheated skin, pulled goosebumps to the surface, and if Chris hadn’t been three knuckles deep in your pussy, you would have asked him to close the door.

You swore crudely and clamped onto his digits, pulling an obscene moan from him. “Christ, sweetheart,” he huffed against your neck.

The words were there, on the tip of your tongue, and you wanted to tell him how close you were, that all he had to do was keep fucking you, harder, faster, there, just right there, but your tongue wasn’t cooperating. Not that it mattered, his thumb was on your clit, massaging it roughly, the blunt edge of his nail adding a bite of pain. You were gone, catapulting over the edge, flying high, gripping onto his shoulders in an effort to keep yourself grounded as you cried out.

Chris was kissing you, praising you as he languidly worked you through it. Your lungs burned as you gasped for air, and when you opened your eyes, the only thing you could see through the haze was the intense gaze of Chris.

You slid your hand down his chest and stomach, thoroughly enjoying the way he hissed as you wrapped your hand around his pulsing cock, as you pumped him, pushing fat beads of pre-cum from the tip.

“I need you inside me,” you rasped.

Chris’ hand left your dripping pussy in order to quickly extract a condom from his wallet, which he quickly rolled on. With a searing kiss, he grabbed your thigh and notched it on his hip. With one hand on his hip, nails digging into the flesh, you pulled him into you. The stretch was addictively exquisite. You could feel every ridge, every vein as it pulsed, and the deeper he went, the more you craved.

He was in control at first, moving with precision, dragging out, pushing in, each thrust sending your ass into the wall with a slap. But when you moaned, begging him to go faster, ensuring him that you weren’t going to break, Chris snarled; his control snapping like a rubber band. Both of your legs were around his waist, his fingers digging into your ass, his teeth and tongue on your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting, painfully marking you as he fucked you.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, on the wall, on Chris, on anything you could use for support and leverage. You were frenzied, the need to fall apart at the seams overpowering you, making you heady. Your feet arched painfully as the dam broke, singing every atom and molecule, stealing your voice as you cried out. Chris was right there with you, his hips losing their rhythm, his cock swelling impossibly bigger, jerking as he came, your name like sin on his tongue.

You must have blacked out, because the next thing you knew, you were lying in a bed, a warm washcloth working gently at the inside of your thighs, cleaning you. He disappeared, coming back an unknown amount of time later with a large glass of water and two ibuprofen.

“Take these and drink,” he instructed, his tone authoritative.

When the glass was empty, he set it on the table and turned off the lamp before sliding into bed with you, covering you with the blankets. You sighed happily and melted into him, pressing a kiss to his charcoal whiskers.

“Thank you.”

“For dinner?” Chris asked for clarification.

You couldn’t stop the smile as it took control of your lips. “That, too.”

Chris smirked as he kissed you and wrapped his arms around you. “It was my pleasure.”

“Remind me to repay the favor,” you mused, exhaustion tugging at you, begging you to close your eyes and fall asleep.

“For dinner?” he repeated.

You didn’t mean to say, “For making me cum so hard I didn’t remember my own name.”

His whole body shook as he laughed. “I’ll hold you to it.”


End file.
